The Stegoceratops Of Notre Dame
by Lord Kristine
Summary: Once upon a time . . .
1. Chapter 1

**Previously On TSJPFEW . . .**

Ellie Sattler and her dragon grandmother placed bets on whether Claire Dearing and Owen Grady would remain together if their roles were reversed (Claire being a Stegoceratops, presently). Ellie created a world similar to Beauty and the Beast, and in this story, Claire accepted the hybrid Owen. Elkay declared that the experiment was rigged, and volunteered to tell her own version of this tale. Between stories, she explained her plan to place Claire and Owen in a Victor Hugo adaptation . . . rather, a Disney adaptation. By doing this, she hoped to affirm that Claire would go for a human Owen, rather than a Stegoceratops Owen. It would also be more tolerable than Ellie's story, she said, because this time there would be musical numbers, like in the 1996 film. Actually, to avoid lawsuits, she would have to change the lyrics a little, but since the songs were written and not sung, nobody would care about the melody remaining unchanged. Anyway, if you're not following, there's only one thing you need to know: it's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but with dinosaurs.

On with the show.


	2. Chapter 2

Beginning the story, the dragon who was currently disguised as a girl introduced the city of Paris in a breathtaking way, only it didn't translate well to text, and would be much better suited for a film format. Too lazy to find a way to adjust this image in manner that suited the current medium, she began to sing instead.

 _Morning in Paris, the city awakes to the bells of Notre Dame_

 _The hangman, he lynches; the prostitute whores to the bells of Notre Dame_

 _To the big bells as loud as the thunder, to the little bells soft as a psalm_

 _Can't live off the wages in the Middle Ages, but hell_

 _Who cares, in Notre Dame_

Giving a coy wink to the readers, she leaned against a pillory and sighed whimsically.

"Yes, France sucked in the Middle Ages, just like the rest of Europe. Nowadays, all they have to worry about are the constant terrorist attacks. Seriously, what's up with that? I'll bet another one will happen within a week of me publishing this. Then this segment will be in poor taste. Not that it wasn't before, but it'll be a thousand times worse if- You know what? I'm painting myself into a corner. Why don't I just skip to the part you all came to see: the Stegoceratops in the bell tower. But I'll get to that in a moment, because we have some backstory to cover . . ."

 _Dark was the night when our tale was begun, on the docks near Notre Dame_

 _Four frightened hybrids slid silently under the docks near- Oh my god, I never realized how lazy that rhyme was-_

 _But a trap had been laid for the hybrids, and they gazed up in fear and alarm_

 _As a figure drew nigher, a giant, blue tiger, who-_

Ellie popped up out of nowhere.

"Is that Zebil?"

Elkay slapped her forehead.

"Yes. You can extract essences from dead people. Will you just let me do my job?"

"Fine."

"Alright. Moving on."

 _Master Zebil longed to purge the world of sin and pride_

 _Which unfortun-ately meant he favored genocide_

As the dinosaurs were rounded up, one of them backed away fearfully. She made a break for it.

"See, this is why I wanted to build a wall and make the dinosaurs pay for it!" Zebil snapped as he chased after her.

 _Latine cantu_

 _Sonat gravis_

 _Haec verba_

 _Haec verba_

 _Dinosaurum_

 _Magnus gallus_

 _Et lacertae testiculis_

After a visually stunning pursuit that also would have been better in a movie, the tiger leapt upon his prey and grabbed her by the tail, slamming her head against the side of the Notre Dame cathedral. She shuddered, then went limp. When he realized that she was dead and not just knocked out, his whiskers drooped.

"You all saw how she fell . . . right?"

From the mantle nestled in her tail came a feeble whine. Zebil picked it up and gasped.

"It's a Stegoceratops!"

Elkay hummed.

"Not sure what he was expecting, since the parents were dinosaurs, too, but then again, Zebil was never that bright."

The tiger carried the baby to a nearby well, where he dangled it over the edge.

"Nothing bad has ever come of drowning babies," he stated confidently.

A priest burst from the cathedral, holding up his hand.

"STOP!"

Zebil flattened his ears.

"Goddamn it."

"See, there, the innocent blood you have spilled on the steps of Notre Dame," the priest sang.

"She fell. The readers can confirm."

"This is the kind of mess Swiffer can't clean, on the steps of Notre Dame."

"That seems like an odd product placement for the Middle Ages . . ."

"You can lie to yourself and your soldiers, and devalue this dinosaur chick, but I suggest maybe don't drown this young baby because . . . they'll think you are a dick."

Zebil winced.

"Well, jeez, I don't want _that_. What should I do?"

"I don't know. Adopt it, or something."

And adopt it, he did. Zebil named the child Owen, because Quasimowen (while thematically appropriate) sounded stupid.

 _Now here's a dilemma that's worthy of Cannes, sing the bells of Notre Dame_

 _Who is the monster and who is the man_

 _Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells . . ._

 _Bells of Notre Dame!_


	3. Chapter 3

Owen's life tended to be monotonous, though he tried his best to avoid boredom. Of course, he had a lot of leisure time between the periods where he rung his bells, but he was running out of ways to put it to good use. He had attempted various artistic pursuits, such as painting, carving, and singing, but he lacked the resources for the first two, and the last activity alerted churchgoers to his presence when he was anywhere but the bell tower, which he did not want. Although he had memorized a few combinations of Gregorian chanting based solely on phonetics, he dared not join in when he peered down at the gathering of people in the church. To partake in their activities would imply that he considered himself their equal, which he of course did not. Aside from the fact that Master Zebil incessantly, firmly, and gratuitously reminded him that he was a subhuman worm not fit for civilized society, he had also witnessed a variety of reactions to his shape, none of which were positive in the slightest. Every time someone caught him singing in the abbey or humming a jolly tune as he swept the floors after ringing the evening vespers, they would approach his shadow with curiosity, but screech or faint when they saw him clearly. That was why he didn't tend to make noise anymore, unless ringing the bells counted as noise. Although he wasn't allowed to get creative with his chores, he appreciated the fact that he was able to make music in the first place, even if he might prefer singing to ringing. He was willing to sacrifice his ambitions for a chance to feel like he was making a difference, and ringing the bells was a very important job. It was a task which made him strong and slightly deaf, but it was worth putting up with the tinnitus for one reason and one reason alone: whenever Owen was pulled up by the force large bells exerted on his rope, he would get a stunning view of the city at an angle he seldom saw from his regular viewing area. Any novel perspective was welcome, for he had practically memorized the layout of Paris from a collection of points, and wanted to get a better idea of what he was missing. How was the bakery painted on the side he couldn't see? How many windows did the shop on the corner really have? Who lived in that little cottage with the white horse in front of it? These were banal mysteries, but mysteries all the same, for Owen lived in the center of his world, and Owen's World extended no farther than the horizon.

Although his existence was repetitive and seldom filled with adventure, Owen preferred to look on the bright side of things. Having had virtually no experience in anything related to a normal life, small surprises made a gargantuan difference in whether or not he would have an above-average day. Last week, for example, while he was cleaning the rooftop, he found a stick from a tree that grew those little green berries with red dots on them. The branch he found had no such berries, but he was thrilled all the same. He placed the stick under his bed, at first, but finding that unsatisfactory, pulled it out and placed it on a table so he could look at it every day. The barren branch made a fine centerpiece, and although it was undeniably dead, Owen was sure there was life in it. Sometimes, he thought he might be imagining what it would look like in full bloom, but that was impossible, since Master Zebil told him he was quite stupid. He didn't have a mind capable of conjuring up ovoid leaves or green berries which would undoubtedly taste sweet and smell like heaven. He couldn't bring himself to think about what it must be like to sit under a tree and watch the clouds roll by, casting shadows on an open field with lush grass that would tickle his feet and make the air smell fresh and alive. This, and many other thoughts, he was simply incapable of thinking, because Master Zebil told him so.

Looking in on this situation, one might deduce that Zebil was unkind to Owen. Having lived under the stern gaze of the blue tiger his whole life, Owen knew nothing else, and had memorized a list of excuses for the feline's behavior, in case anyone were to question the morality of his situation. The truth of the matter was, no sane person could ever bring themselves to like a Stegoceratops, and Zebil was undoubtedly perfect, as he had said so many times. Zebil couldn't be wrong about these two facts, of course, because even if Owen interpreted his actions as being cruel or malevolent, this was not sufficient evidence. Owen was a stupid animal, and was thus wrong about everything, so if he ever felt like Zebil was being unfair, it was only because he didn't know any better. All of the floggings and insults were just signs of compassion, he was sure, and if not, he deserved them for being an uneducated, simple-minded, dirty, disgusting, smelly, stupid, worthless, brainless hybrid dinosaur who would never be loved by anyone and most certainly die alone. In Zebil's opinion, anyway.

There were times when Owen wondered if he might be capable of becoming something greater than an animal, or at least strive to make himself not-as-terrible as the monster he was, and once he got over the initial guilt of these impure thoughts, he would occasionally allow himself to dream- for the briefest moment- of what his life might be like if he were anything other than a Stegoceratops. Had he been born a bird, he could fly over the roofs he knew so well, singing at the top of his lungs without fear of being noticed. As a bull, he could graze in the fields all day, and no one would glare at him in disgust, because cows have low standards of beauty, and will take what they can get. But the dream he yearned for more than anything in the world, as sinful and unnatural as it was, was to be human. Men were unlike any animal living or dead, for they could accomplish great things- with the risk of utter failure, yes- but to have such an opportunity in the first place was reserved for this noble species alone. What must it be like to live with members of one's own kind, to walk down the street and see figures who looked exactly like them? How would it feel to greet a person and not be shunned immediately, to have a chance to earn their respect, or even something as simple as a smile? How wonderful would it be to know that no matter how awful you feel, you'll never truly be alone, for all you have to do is take a step outside to see that there are others who share the billion aches and pains that you experience every day, and who are willing to help you through troubled times, because you're just like them, accepted for the sole reason that you're human, and therefore automatically worth their time. For life- human life- has value. When a person is born, they are not put to death immediately for their lack of accomplishments. The simple act of being Homo sapiens gives a person valor that cannot be attained by any simple beast, no matter how hard they try. Even criminals and vagabonds are blessed with that holy label that separates them from the animals, and a good human will never be slaughtered or whipped without cause. Only livestock meet that fate, because they exist to serve man. It was the way of the world: the system that kept everything in order. Or so the story goes. It wasn't really up for debate, anyway.

So perhaps if he had been born as something else, Owen would be worth something, even if that "something" was no greater than fleece or milk or meat. He sometimes wondered why he had been unfortunate enough to be stuck as a Stegoceratops . . . or if it wasn't a matter of luck, then what exactly had he done to deserve this body? As far as he could tell, his only crime was existing, and that was hardly his fault. Was it possible that the world simply wasn't fair, and never would be? Well, perhaps it could become fairer in time, but only for humans. A man could work for a better life, but a dinosaur was destined to be shunned for all eternity, no matter how much he tried to change his fate. That being said, if there was even the slightest chance that he could live a better life, Owen would devote his existence to pursuing that goal . . . but wishing for that opportunity was a crime against nature, of course. He ought to be happy in his current state, though he had been born as the worst thing imaginable.

Owen's life was pretty dismal, obviously, but at the very least, he had friends who shared his opinions. Perhaps they were a bad influence on him (at least by Master Zebil's standards), but he enjoyed the guilty pleasure of listening to their outlandish ideas. Of course, he took their advice with a grain of salt, since they were about as ugly as he was, and made of stone besides. As he gazed down at the streets of Paris one morning, they hopped up to him with wide smiles.

"Good morning, Owen!"

"Good morning, Vic. Good morning, Zara."

The larger of the two grinned and fluttered her wings.

"Don't you just _love_ the smell of bread in the morning? Oh, of _course_ you do: you're a dinosaur. You could pick up the scent of a loaf from _miles_ away. I can tell the baker's working on a big load of toast at the moment . . ."

"Is _that_ what that is?" Owen asked sullenly, "I'm not sure I even _know_ what fresh bread smells like, let alone toast. I've only tasted it once, and I'm not confident I remember it all that well."

"I do," Vic stated proudly, "I don't care if I make a poor living: when I retire, I'll bake all day long."

"Gosh, I'd love to join you," Zara gushed, "It sounds like a nice, stable life, and you'll never have to worry about depending on someone for food."

Owen shot them a sassy smile.

"Don't go running off, you two. The cathedral needs you to scare away the birds . . . or whatever it is you do. Besides, I'd miss you if you left me."

They wrapped him in a tight embrace.

"Oh, we wouldn't do _that_ ," Zara assured him, "We're your forever-friends."

"Totally," Vic agreed, "And we're never, ever, _ever_ going away."

Owen smiled sadly.

"Thanks, guys. You always know what to say to cheer me up. Still, I'm sure it's miserable living with an ugly fellow like me."

"Not at all," Zara asserted, "You may be ugly, but you're twice as handsome as us, and you have a stellar frill."

Owen laughed.

"Don't flatter me. I might start to believe you."

"So, why don't you?" Zara asked, "Surely, you don't think we're _stupid_ . . ."

"Not stupid: just wrong. I don't have a stellar _anything_ , nevermind a stellar frill."

"You don't like your own frill?" Vic pouted.

Owen ran his front foot over it hesitantly.

"Well, I _wish_ I could say I like it, but then _I'd_ be wrong, too. Nothing is good about being a dinosaur, just like Master Zebil says."

"And you think a _tiger_ knows what he's talking about?" Zara sassed.

Owen sighed and draped his head over the edge of the cathedral miserably.

"Of course he does. Despite the abuse he puts me through, he's still the closest thing I have to family. Nobody else would have taken on the burden of raising a monster like me. A feline blessed with such patience and dedication _must_ be right about _some_ things."

Zara crossed her wings.

"Owen, do you honestly believe that he has your best interest in mind? Furthermore, just because he did _one_ nice thing for you does _not_ give him the right to tell you that you're a monster, and it _certainly_ doesn't make him some all-knowing genius who understands the way the world works."

Owen gave a sad rumble.

"He's right about one thing: nobody wants to be friends with a Stegoceratops."

He caught himself.

"Other than you guys, of course."

Vic patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't feel bad, Owen. You're a nice guy. I'm sure people would like you if they only got to know you."

Owen's face brightened.

"You know, you may be right. What if I could find a way to socialize without being seen?"

Zara gave an excited chirp and yanked a tattered blanket off of Owen's hay-pile.

"You could use a disguise! They'll never know you're a dinosaur if you don't show your face!"

Owen's tail started wagging spiritedly.

"Exactly! And once I impress them with my wit and charm-"

"-they can be your forever-friends, too!" Vic finished, bouncing merrily.

Owen draped the blanket over his shoulders, but paused fearfully. His eyes turned to the ground as he ruminated on the logistics of his plan. The last scraps of hope came trickling out of his irises like invisible tears. His gargoyle friends shared a worried look, then leaned in close.

"What's the matter, Owen?" Vic asked, "Don't you like our plan?"

He took a deep breath.

"You're both forgetting that I can't impress anyone with my wit and charm, because I don't have any."

Zara clicked her beak.

"Did Zebil tell you that, too?"

Owen didn't reply. Vic took a couple of hops towards him and lifted his chin.

"Hey, don't worry about all that. As long as you're kind and gentle, no one will think you're a monster."

Owen sighed and gazed at his tail.

"But what kind of a person would be able to look past all this?"

"A good person," they replied at once.

Owen took a deep breath.

"No human is that forgiving. It doesn't matter how hard I try: I'll never fit in. Still, I wonder if I'm truly meant to stay here forever, or if maybe I could have a chance . . . just one chance . . ."

 _And he proceeded to sing Out There, which will not be parodied in this story, because there are some things you just don't mess with._


	4. Chapter 4

And so it was that Owen decided to sneak into town and make a friend. He donned his not-suspicious-at-all outfit and climbed down from the bell tower as an abnormally tall, abnormally wide, abnormally-shaped, and generally abnormal cloaked figure, hoping that people would be stupid enough to buy his disguise. Obviously, they were, since this story is set in France.

Anyway, he crept down the street timidly, taking care not to draw attention to himself. Luckily, there wasn't much of a crowd, and- Wait, isn't there supposed to be a party or something?

 _You set this in May._

Are we doing italic-speak or regular dialogue?

"Either one. Anyway, since you forgot to set the date correctly, there's no Festival of Fools. I guess this means you can't do a musical number about it."

I'll just pick another holiday, then.

"Like what?"

 _Once a year, we throw a party here in town_

 _Once a year, we turn all Paris upside-down_

 _For a day when Mexicans will wear a frown_

 _Here it is: Cinco De Mayo day!_

 _Other countries celebrate a long-past war_

 _And another holiday, the day before_

 _Everyone is getting drunk on this, the fifth of May_

 _Cinco Mayo_

 _Come offend the southern nation_

 _Cinco Mayo_

 _Cultural appropriation_

 _Beer, sombreros, ponchos you crochet_

 _Chug tequila on the fifth of May_

"Wow, offensive."

Are you talking about me, my song, or the holiday?

"Take your pick. Anyway, can we focus on Owen?"

Fine. Killjoy.

It was a surreal experience, walking through the streets of Paris. Owen knew them from a bird's eye view, but up close, they felt so alien. His nervousness vanished, however, when he noticed a moderately-sized tree growing in a garden behind a quaint, blue house. It was the kind with the green-and-red berries, and it bore fruit at the moment. Talk about perfect timing!

 _See: it was a good idea to set the story in May._

 _Still an anachronism. And a geographicism._

 _Piss off._

Owen didn't want to be perceived as a thief, but he was certain the plant's owner wouldn't miss just one berry. He leaned towards the bush with his tongue sticking out from underneath his hood, moving closer, closer to the tiny, green sphere. He had longed to taste real, fresh food for as long as he could remember. This moment was a dream come true. The berry beckoned him forward, seducing him with sweet, beautiful magic. It was sure to be- THE MOST DISGUSTING THING HE'D EVER TASTED! Jesus, it was like rotten grass shat out by a geriatric horse! Owen spat out the chewed-up remnants of the berry, decorating the cobblestone with green specks. What kind of an animal could tolerate such putrid fruit? Certainly not him.

Choking on the unpleasant aftertaste, Owen rounded the corner. He froze dead in his tracks when he realized that he was not alone. Although the bitter fruit had left him questioning the merits of his plan, he was now positive that he had made the right decision in leaving the tower. There, dancing on the corner of the block, was the woman who never spent the night in the same place twice. He knew her at once by her long, red hair, though he hadn't been expecting the sight of it to make his knees wobble. Up close, she was a sight to behold. The view from the tower didn't do her justice. She was the most beautiful creature Owen had ever laid eyes upon.

It was only when the woman turned to wink at him that he realized he had been staring at her for quite some time, and he nearly wet himself when she did. Quickly, he sprinted away, ashamed that he had dared to watch her without making a donation. Desperate to remedy his rudeness, he spent the next ten minutes scanning the streets for loose change. A part of him knew it was unwise to focus on pleasing one person when there was a whole city to explore, but something about the dancer captivated his attention, and when he found a gold coin lying near the sewer, he plucked it up with his beak and retraced his steps. The woman was still dancing, though there was no one to watch her. Owen spat the coin into her bag as politely as he could manage. She gave him a coy smile, quirking her brow.

"I've never seen anyone literally cough up their money before."

Owen was petrified. He did not know how to respond, having had no experience talking to normal people, and feared he would make a fool of himself by trying. He gulped and backed away with shaky legs, hoping his hood was dark enough to conceal his saurian features.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"What for?"

"For not using my . . . hands."

Her smile made his heart melt.

"That's alright. I'm flattered you took the time to watch me dance."

Owen giggled dopily.

"You're a wonderful dancer. I wish I could give you more, but I don't have anything on me . . ."

She spun around, rolling her tambourine across her shoulders.

"Oh, that's alright. I don't charge by the minute. You know, a lot of people don't even take the time to stay and watch. Most of my earnings are pity-money. Someday, I hope people will pay because they want to see me dance, not because they feel bad for me."

"I'm not sure why they don't already," Owen gushed, "You're very talented."

"Thank you. You're sweet for saying so- uh- what's your name?"

"Urrr . . ."

He had literally forgotten.

"That's okay," she laughed, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I know what it's like to live in hiding."

Owen gulped.

"Who says I'm in hiding?"

"You're wearing a cloak that covers every inch of your body. Something tells me it's not a cultural thing."

Owen laughed nervously.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Kind of. You probably won't get picked up unless you try to cross the border, though."

"That's not a problem. I have to be back in two hours anyway."

"Oh, good. That should give us enough time."

He batted his eyes.

"Time for what?"

"To have lunch together," she elaborated as she packed up her things casually.

"Uh . . ."

"I'm inviting you," she clarified.

Owen's jaw hung open in disbelief.

"I'd love to go, but I don't have any money."

"That's alright. We'll put your coin to good use."

She picked up her bag, but the base tore, spilling silver across the street.

"I don't know if that's a good sign or just bad luck," she grumbled, "In any case, I have a spare."

She reached into her pocket and began scooping the loose coins into a tattered purse. Owen bent down to help her. After a few seconds, he noticed that she had stopped moving. She was staring at his front feet, which he had accidentally exposed while reaching for stray coins. He withdrew them quickly. She blinked, then went back to gathering her money. Perhaps she hadn't noticed after all.

Owen dumped the remaining coins into her purse, taking care to keep his feet hidden this time, and stood up hastily. He rocked back and forth on his heels, then cleared his throat.

"My name is Owen."

"I'm Claire."

 _Because Clairesmeralda sounds stupid._

She held out her hand for him to shake. Wrapping his cloak around his arm like a loose glove, he did just that. She gave him a funny look.

"Afraid of germs?"

"Not from you."

She snickered, and he wondered if she could tell he was blushing.

"You're an unusual man, Owen. I mean that in the best possible way."

"Wow . . . Thank you."

He meant it. An hour ago, he might have seen this compliment as a sign that his master plan was working. Now, instead of mentally ticking his checklist, he was completely wrapped up in the moment. This was no scientific experiment: this was _friendship_. Although he was still a little nervous, Owen was surprisingly eager to witness what the next two hours would bring. He was extremely lucky that the first person he met just happened to be a kind and understanding soul, though perhaps this was the result of her own insecurities. Try as he might, Owen couldn't think of a single reason why a woman like her would need to keep a low profile. It wasn't the kind of thing you asked a person, anyway, even though he was about to do exactly that.

"Earlier, you said you were hiding from someone."

"Not someone specific, though the new Captain rode into town today. I'm more concerned with soldiers in general."

"Why?"

She shrugged.

"I associate with people who . . . are not looked upon fondly by the law."

"Associate with? So you're not a criminal? I mean, of course you're not, but-"

"No, it's nothing like that. I'm only an ally to those less fortunate. The soldiers tend to remember me, that's all. A girl such as myself sticks out when she's the only redhead in town. It's not an ideal color for camouflage."

Beneath his cloak, Owen examined his crimson tail.

"No arguments there."

She gave an absentminded smile.

"Yeah, it's not easy being different. Sometimes, I think the more you try to hide, the more people notice you."

"Well, _I_ certainly didn't last long."

She laughed.

"I'm glad you didn't. It's not often I come across men like you."

"Men? . . . Like me? . . ."

"Yeah. You're polite, you're attentive, you're sincere . . . It's strange to see those qualities in a man so large- Well, I assume you're large under that cape."

"You could say that, yes."

She nodded.

"Anyway, I'm used to seeing guys like you bully others into submission, especially when they have the power to get away with it. Coming across someone with a little humility restores my faith in humanity."

Owen bit his lower beak.

"I'm not sure I should be considered part of humanity."

"Well, there you go being humble again. If anything, that makes you more human than most people . . . if you believe people are good, that is. I suppose you could be into all that Catholic guilt and stuff. You religious?"

"I grew up in the church."

"Ah. Not me. I never really saw the point of it. I don't understand how a person can believe in a benevolent God when just outside their place of worship are brothels and soup kitchens. It seems like the only people who can afford to believe in charity are the ones who don't need it."

"Well, we can't ask for more than what we are given."

"Why not?"

Owen felt his master's words rolling off his tongue, devoid of any passion.

"It's sinful to stray from one's place in society. That's just the way of the world."

Claire rolled her eyes.

"Please tell me you're joking. That's just a bunch of crap those self-righteous assholes tell us to keep us in our place. What gives them the right to decide what we're worth?"

"Well, it's not just them."

"Who, then? Society? God? In what universe is it okay to make life unfair just because some people think they're better than everyone else? If they allowed us the chance to work for a better life, I'm sure a good number of kings and queens would be replaced by those competent enough to be in charge. As is, they have people like you and me believing that we're born to be one thing and one thing only. You shouldn't believe their lies."

Her face softened when she saw that he was lagging behind her remorsefully.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper."

"No, it's fine . . . But you should know that I'm positive I don't deserve to be anything greater than what I am."

"Why not? And don't tell me that's just the way it is."

Owen took a deep breath.

"It's different for me. If you knew about . . . about what I am . . . Well, you wouldn't treat me the same, I'm sure. I'm no better than an animal."

"They say the same thing about women, but you treat _me_ as an equal."

"Oh, your status is _far_ higher than mine. If I was ordinary-"

"You'd look down on me?"

Owen tensed up.

"No! Oh god! Not at all! I didn't mean-"

"I know. It's okay. It's just a shame they have you loathing yourself when you're such a nice person. _They're_ the ones who ought to feel ashamed, seeing how they're abusing you like this."

A part of Owen wanted to believe her, but he couldn't allow himself to dream of such things. In all likelihood, his confidence would evolve into pride, and perhaps even arrogance.

"I think it's dangerous to think this way," Owen said quietly.

"Dangerous for _them_."

Sensing his unease, Claire sighed.

"Look, I'm not planning a revolution or anything. I'm just saying it's unfair. You don't have to believe me either way, but I want you to promise that you'll try not to let them get to you. It would be a tragedy for someone as nice as you to live life thinking they're a monster."

"But I am."

"You're not. Believe me: you're not."

When he didn't reply, she looked away sadly.

"I guess that doesn't mean much coming from me . . ."

He shook his head.

"It means the world to me."

She laughed bitterly.

"I don't see why you should trust the word of a transient redhead without a franc to her name."

It took all of Owen's strength to stop himself from holding her hand.

"You're much more than that. If there's one person who could- _almost_ \- convince me I'm worth something, it's you."

"Even though I'm subhuman in the eyes of the law?"

"You're better off than me. The entire world is your home, you're incredibly attractive-"

"Really?"

"Of course. Objectively, I mean. Credible people would agree, I'm sure."

She leaned against him briefly.

"I'd take it as a compliment from you, too."

Owen smiled in spite of himself.

"Well, you can if you want to, I suppose, but my opinion doesn't matter. Anyway, my point is: you're being too hard on yourself, especially since you happen to have demonstrably more than zero francs to your name, considering you just made a small fortune dancing."

Claire snuffed.

"Well, I haven't actually counted it, but there should be enough to feed you and me if we go somewhere-"

She did not get to finish this thought, for a gangly man burst from the alley and snatched her purse. Her eyes went wide as he made a break for it.

"Thief!"

Owen acted on instinct. He dashed ahead recklessly, charging down the street like an enraged bull. The thief was fast, but he was faster. They collided. As he wrestled the scoundrel to the ground, Owen's cloak slipped away from his shoulders, but he took no notice. He grabbed the man's arm in his beak, snarling through clenched teeth.

"Give it back!"

When the thief got a good look at his assailant, he turned white. Owen snorted furiously and pulled on his arm.

"Are you deaf? Come on! Give her back her money!"

The man's shoulder cracked, and he screamed. Owen pulled him to his feet and slapped the purse out of his palm, shoving him to the side.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Go home and think about what you've done. I'd better not see your face again."

The thief stumbled away, holding his limp arm at the elbow. Owen gave a final snort before retrieving the stolen object. As he turned around, purse in muzzle, he realized that Claire was staring at him with horror. He returned her gaze with confusion, then felt his heart drop. He eyed the discarded cloak, then turned back to Claire with terror pulsing in his chest, dropping her money as he whined pitifully. They both stumbled backwards.

"Don't hurt me."

It was unclear who said it. Perhaps they both did. They would never know for sure, because the thief returned with five soldiers.

"There he is! That's the beast that broke my arm!"

Owen gave a fearful trumpet as the soldiers drew their swords. He was blinded by the glinting blades, and some primal instinct drove him away before his legs knew what they were doing. His path ran dangerously close to Claire, who believed he intended to trample her. She keeled over, covering her head in preparation, but Owen was caught by a lasso before he could reach her. He mooed as he fell hard on his back, kicking his legs in the air with panic. Two men dragged him backwards by the neck, choking him. When he rolled over and got to his feet, more ropes came flying, and his left leg was pulled across his chest as his right horn was yanked in the opposite direction. He fell in a crooked pose, restrained from every angle. Still, the soldiers pulled, determined to stretch his body until he broke. Owen wanted to speak out, so that he might reason with the soldiers, but was unable to form coherent words. All he could do was let out a terrified wail as his legs were bound like a steer awaiting slaughter. The head soldier tightened the rope around his neck.

"Bring him to the square. We'll let the heat take care of him."

Owen opened his mouth to beg them to reconsider, but they bound his muzzle and yanked his head back violently. In this posture, he saw Claire huddling fearfully behind a parked wagon. Their eyes met, but Owen's vision was blurred with tears.

Even so, he did not break her gaze as he was dragged away.


	5. Chapter 5

Poor Owen was dragged to the square in front of the cathedral, where he was bound to a wooden platform like a suitcase on the roof of a carriage. He let out a pained moo as the soldiers tightened the ropes, pinning him in place. When he was secure, the soldier directing the troop marched up to his front end, metal boots clanking, and removed the rope from his muzzle. Owen did not waste a second.

"Please, you have to let me go! There's been a terrible mistake!"

"Ah, so you _do_ talk."

Owen shrunk away like a bud withered by a cruel sun. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

"Please. I'm supposed to be in Notre Dame."

"So why aren't you?"

"I left."

The soldier laughed.

"Is that all? Well, you won't be returning anytime soon. You nearly killed that man."

"He was a thief!"

With this, the solider kicked Owen's face. The dinosaur snorted in pain, and blood dripped from his nose.

"Not another word out of you, or I'll see to it that you're thrown in jail. Be thankful I'm only keeping you here for the day."

He turned, then beckoned his comrades over. They stepped down from the platform, backs turned to Owen.

"Hey! Hey, wait!"

They didn't so much as glance at him. Owen thrashed around beneath the ropes, feeling them dig into his scales.

"You can't leave me! I'm supposed to be ringing the bells! Wait! Wait!"

But they did not wait. They disappeared around the corner, conversing casually. Their chatter was replaced by a high-pitched tone in Owen's ears. This was the only sound for twenty minutes. Then, a woman in an apron stepped out of her cottage, crossing the square with a basket of bread in her arms.

"Hey! Hey, lady! There's been a mistake! I've been wrongfully arrested!"

When her eyes fell on Owen, she jumped a little and started walking faster.

"Wait! Don't go! Please, I'm not supposed to _be_ here!"

She hurried down the path. Owen let out a distressed wail. When she didn't return, he called louder. The noise attracted more peasants, who observed Owen with curiosity. He lowed to get their attention, but no one approached him. This futile endeavor continued for a long time, despite the lack of payoff.

As the day went on, Owen was passed by many, but never acknowledged. He tried different tactics, such as speaking politely and offering a reward for his liberation, but nothing seemed to work. His desperate cries for help went unanswered, though their urgency increased every minute. He was ignored by everyone, from old Poussepain to little Fleur-de-Lys, receiving at most a pitiful glance.

The sun rose in the sky, baking Owen alive. He started panting like a dog, but it didn't help him in the slightest. Sweat dripped down his scales, forming a puddle around him. Delirious and dehydrated, Owen turned his eyes to the cathedral. It was almost noon, and he was supposed to ring the bells to announce it. Surely, someone would notice his absence and rescue him.

Noon came and went. Notre Dame was eerily silent in the minutes that followed. For the first time in twenty years, the cathedral was not filled with the noble harmony of clanging bronze. It was a perversion of the order Paris had come to know.

Owen felt shame and anxiousness eating away at his three stomachs as guilt overtook him. He wondered if he could free himself and perhaps ring the bells a little later than usual. He tried to escape his bonds once more, but his remaining energy depleted in a matter of seconds. Exhausted, he laid his head on the hot wood and coughed dryly. He was feeling dizzier than ever, and his thoughts were becoming muddled. In his confusion, he shut his eyes and tried to turn back time. When that failed, he fell into despair, and this somehow triggered a period of hallucination. He saw little berry-people with stubby arms dancing in the square, squeezing juice out of their faces. He licked a puddle of berry-water from the stage, but instead of the putrid taste he had sampled a few hours ago, all he felt was splintery wood beneath his tongue. Around one o'clock, Owen thought he saw Zebil standing by the church, but he must have been mistaken about this as well, for the tiger did not come to his rescue when he called to him. Instead, he flicked his tail, sneering as he stormed into the cathedral.

And so, the day crept by at a snail's pace. The sun seemed determined to set the sick Stegoceratops ablaze. By two, his tongue was parchment and his eyes were fire. Still, he managed to lift his head two inches and wheeze out a single phrase.

"To drink!"

Nothing. Not a single response from the people around him. The square was busy now, and a small crowd had gathered in front of him. He gazed at them with pleading eyes.

"Water."

They did not react. Owen coughed, then wiggled under his ropes.

"Water!"

The crowd dispersed, but not a single person came back with a jug. He told himself that they had not heard his plea, but he knew very well that they simply didn't care. Had he been right in believing that no one would help a Stegoceratops? It was looking that way. Still, he called and called and called, howling like the animal he was, begging for even a sliver of compassion. His cries echoed through the streets, yet of the three hundred or so people that heard him, none fulfilled his request.

Then, all at once, he fell silent. Claire had appeared by the cathedral, and although her form was wavy and unfocused in his failing vision, Owen knew her at once. Her hair flickered like fire through the heat that rose from the pavement, yet she had a coolness about her, as though the sun was hesitant to cloak her in its warmth. Owen was almost excited to see her, but he had very little strength left, and in a way, it was disheartening to know that they had once again crossed paths. With her arrival came the realization that nothing was about to change. Of all the people Owen had met that day, she had been the most sympathetic to his constant agony, but the moment his true self was exposed, she fled. The only difference between her and the people who ignored him was that she had been unaware of his species, initially. Otherwise, they wouldn't have spoken for as long as they did.

Owen's desperation turned to shame, and although his thirst burned stronger than ever, he gave up on begging for mercy. Clearly, even the kindest people would not provide charity for a dinosaur. That was the way of the world, as Zebil so often reminded him, and he was in no position to argue. Giving up, Owen let himself go limp, closing his eyes with defeat, praying he would somehow disappear forever and improve the world through his absence.

Minutes passed. How many? He could not say for sure, but all of a sudden, he heard footsteps through the buzzing in his ears. A hand touched his cheek. Slowly, fearfully, he opened his eyes. Silhouetted against the sun was Claire. Owen thought he might be dreaming, but there she was, kneeling beside him on the platform, looking into his eyes with an expression that he could not read. She unlatched a gourd from her belt and held it out for him. He was too busy gawking to notice. She lifted the bottle to his beak, rotating his head with her other hand. Although he had been perspiring all afternoon, there were at least a few drops of fluid left in his body. A single tear slid down his cheek as the water touched his tongue. It was the first tear he had genuinely shed in his entire life. Of course, his eyes had been wet before, as was the case for most animals, but never had a droplet left his face. Knowing that he was capable of crying, Owen wondered if he might be closer to humanity than he thought.

Claire stayed by his side even when the gourd was hollow. She pressed her palm against his frill gently, but with enough force that he could feel it. He gave a sort of purring rumble, which was laced with a touch of nervousness. Claire placed her other hand on his snout, rubbing it compassionately, and he calmed down, now certain that she intended to stay. Their tender moment was short-lived, however, for Zebil stormed out of the cathedral with fire in his eyes.

"You, there! Step away from that vile monster!"

Claire stood defiantly.

"I will not! He's suffered enough! This isn't fair!"

"You insolent-"

She pulled a knife from her boot and began to cut the ropes that bound Owen. Zebil prowled forward with a crinkled nose.

"You will cease your pursuit immediately. I'll arrest you, I swear!"

Claire paused. Then, she went back to cutting.

"I don't care. Arrest me if you want, but let me free this poor creature."

Zebil snarled.

"Captain Grady!"

A man rode into the scene on horseback, dismounting by the platform.

 _A tale of two Owens._

 _Shush._

He unlatched a pair of chains from his belt to cuff Claire, but as he lifted her arm, he got a glimpse of her face.

"Well, hello there . . ."

She drove her knee into his stomach, but he grabbed her by the wrist before she could run.

"Easy, now. You don't want to add resisting arrest to your charges. Assault of a police officer is a serious crime. That being said, if you want to call it even, I'm free next Saturday . . ."

With these words, Zebil stalked forward with an envious snarl, as tigers often do when they see a jackal devouring their precious gazelle from behind bars. Grady took no notice of his disposition, but as he tightened his grip around Claire's arm, Owen lowed furiously and writhed beneath his remaining bonds, snapping two of them. Grady turned to him with surprise.

"Whoah, calm down. It's standard procedure. We're just taking her in for-"

Claire elbowed his shoulder, then thrust her knee forward once more. Her aim was on point this time, and Grady fell forward, shielding the wounded area from further assault.

"Jesus . . ."

Owen gave a triumphant cry as Claire escaped, wagging his tail as much as the ropes would allow. His grin faded in a fraction of a second when Zebil climbed up to the stage. The tiger lifted his paw, protracting his claws threateningly. Owen shrunk away, then flinched as his side was raked by his master's nails. The ropes fell away, but cords of blood replaced them. Zebil turned away with a disgusted scowl. After a moment, Owen followed him, head held low. He could feel judging eyes peering out at him from the windows of nearby houses, burning through his very soul.

Although he was tired and thirsty and in great pain, nothing compared to the humiliation of being despised by the citizens of Paris. He didn't know what he expected, but after watching them for so long, he had fooled himself into believing that they were more than self-serving elitists, that they believed in peace and justice. Now, he realized just how stupid it was to presume that the rules set by humans applied to him as well. No matter what, he would always be a monster, both in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of regular citizens. He was subhuman. He was even lower than animals, though he could speak and think and feel. He did not belong anywhere, and was wanted by no one. Knowing this hurt more than the wound on his side, and he feared it might be enough to destroy whatever hope was left in his heart.

But the sputtering fire of faith began to glow steadily when he saw a pair of blue eyes peeking at him from behind the tree with the green and red berries. Claire had escaped the Captain with ease, and was now watching Owen being dragged back into the cathedral. If there was one part of the outside world that made him wish he didn't have to leave, it was her. The brief time they'd shared was the highlight of Owen's day. It was the highlight of his week, in fact. The month, also. The year, for that matter. Maybe even his life. To know that someone had enjoyed spending the afternoon with him was mind-boggling and wonderful, and the feeling made his soul shine. And even though Claire had regarded him with fear when he revealed himself, she had returned to show him compassion when no one else would. What had he done to earn that favor? Was it possible that, beneath his misshapen form, there was something of value that made her want to come back? Perhaps she was simply one of those rare people who showed kindness to even the most hideous monsters. Either way, Owen was infinitely grateful for what she had done.

Although his heart ached as he returned to his prison, Owen found comfort in knowing that this woman- this _angel_ \- did not hate him for existing.

 _Angel?_

 _Wings on a stegoceratops. Imagine that._

 _Ridiculous._


	6. Chapter 6

If the reader will allow it, we will now pause to discuss matters relating to the Calgary Tower. Once the largest building in its city, the Calgary Tower now stands in the shadow of concrete pillars: towering sentinels devoid of artistic merit, serving their purpose without enhancing the aesthetic appeal of the already bland cityscape. The dullness of these structures has been corrected in part by creative architecture such as the Peace Bridge and that fucking pointless hoop by the airport, but it is impossible to salvage a stale cake with icing. Unlike the diverse architecture of New York, Calgary's buildings fall prey to the quantity over quality attitude: that capitalist notion of putting functionality above what makes us human: the arts. And so, the Calgary Tower remains one of the only Calgarian structures whose beauty exceeds its purpose, though this may be in part due to its indulgence in bourgeoisie values. Dining in the rotating restaurant is the ultimate example of affirming one's wealth through expensive novelty. Perhaps this is why the city felt the need to update the building, now aged nearly a half-century, adding trinkets such as fire and colored lights, mimicking Toronto's use of a glass floor, removing the yellow stripe in favor of a unified red coating-

"What are you doing?"

I'm demonstrating my keen understanding of the source material.

"How?"

With buildings . . . And the printing press . . . Distribution of art . . . Additions that harm the overall product . . . and stuff.

"Do you think it's maybe not a good idea to comment on these issues?"

It's a _great_ idea! I'll be just like Victor Hugo, addressing how text is becoming more accessible and reproducible, and how tacky additions to already-existing properties makes everything shit. That's why my story, a novel published on the Internet, will pay tribute to Hugo's masterpiece by rewriting dialogue and inserting dinosaurs-

Oh. I see what you mean.

"Yeah, this isn't going to end well."

I'll say: it's a Victor Hugo story! Actually, it leans more towards the Disney version, for better or for worse.

"So which work are you remaking?"

Neither. This is a story about a hybrid dinosaur in Notre Dame.

"But you're ripping off people's work, right?"

Is an olive branch ripping off a stag's antler?

". . . Maybe you should keep writing."

Are you saying that just to get this over with?

"That's neither here nor there."

Right.

"By the way, while we were talking, you missed the scene with Claire and the other Owen."

 _Son of a-_


	7. Chapter 7

Claire collapsed against a pillar in the cathedral, trying desperately not to cry, but failing miserably. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and her breathing was fragmented by sorrow. She wiped her left eye with her sleeve, gasping as she felt her well-kept facade of confidence melting away.

"This is so unfair! Why is it that I'm shunned by everyone except the monster who lusts after me for the sole reason that he believes I'm a sinful creature? What's so wrong with me that I can't be loved by someone good? I've seen people turn down affection greater than I'll ever know. I'd give _anything_ to be treated as an equal. Why was I born the red-headed stepchild when so many humans live happy lives by no merit of their own? You say that everyone is equal in your eyes, yet you allow us to look the wrong way or think the wrong thoughts or love the wrong people! How can you claim to love us when we suffer so?"

She looked down, then batted her eyes.

"God . . . You're a dick."

Then, standing up shakily, she limped to a wheel of light tinted by stained glass, and turned her wet eyes to the radiant figures in the window.

 _I don't know if you can hear me_

 _Or if you're even there_

 _I don't know if you would listen_

 _To a woman's prayer_

 _I was told that we are equals_

 _And I believe it's true_

 _Still, I envy those above me_

 _That's, of course, including you_

 _Why don't you listen_

 _Why are you sure_

 _That those who despise me_

 _Are those you call pure_

 _You said you loved me_

 _But evidence shows_

 _My voice means nothing_

 _In systems you chose_

 _I don't mean to sound ungrateful_

 _But won't you tell me why_

 _Voices are appraised by status_

 _Through the saints on high_

 _If we truly are all equals_

 _My words should matter, too_

 _But those who know not of squalor_

 _Say I shouldn't question you_

Gradually, men and women trickled into the church. They sneered as they passed Claire, regarding her shabby attire with deep scowls. She pretended not to notice their repulsed expressions. They stood as she stood, prayed as she prayed, but though their words overpowered hers, they somehow made the cathedral more empty.

 _I ask for wealth_

 _I ask for fame_

 _I ask for glory to shine on my name_

I ask for love.

- _I can possess_

 _I ask for God and his angels to bless me . . ._

Afraid of being drowned out, Claire made a final plea.

 _I ask for justice_

 _Peace for my kind_

 _Don't let them shun us_

 _For face, form, or mind_

 _Dinosaurs, humans_

 _Men and women, too_

 _Don't let them tell us_

 _We're lesser than y-_

She was pushed to the side by an old woman.

"Get out of here, you disgusting heretic! This is a place of love. We don't want your misguided thoughts!"

Claire sighed with defeat, then moved into the shadows. The churchgoers began to swarm the light, pushing and shoving for a better chance of being drowned in the fragmented glow. Claire watched them for a moment, then turned away sadly.

 _Hate us, betray us_

 _Mark us from birth_

 _You have ignored us_

 _But fighting for worth_

 _It's up to us now_

 _The children of Earth_

And although she found no help from above, Claire decided that she need not look anywhere but within herself to find the compassion the world so sorely needed.


	8. Chapter 8

Claire believed that her prayer had gone unheard, but at least one person- if he could be called that- was paying attention. Owen had crept down to the body of the church, and was observing her with fascination. Clearly, he was moved by her words, feeling more or less downtrodden himself. He sighed whimsically and leaned against a candelabra, not realizing it was too feeble to support his weight. As it clattered to the floor, Claire turned sharply, and for one horrible moment, their eyes met. He squeaked and wheeled around, knocking over two more decorations as he scampered back the way he came. Claire stood up and followed him, abandoning her dismal ponderings in favor of pursuing her curiosity.

After climbing a set of very steep, very narrow stairs, she entered a cramped area in one of the towers- she didn't know which- out of breath and aching. She was not in poor physical shape, but at present, her legs felt like aspic. It was a marvel that the dinosaur had beat her to the top. He wasn't too far, anyhow, because she could hear his voice echoing off the stone.

"Out of my way! She'll be here any second!"

"What's so bad about that?"

Claire frowned in confusion. Who else could possibly be in the bell tower at this time of day?

"I can't let her see me!"

"Why not? It's not like she doesn't know what you are . . ."

"Exactly! I don't want to make things _worse_!"

Claire peeked around the corner and saw Owen standing in front of two gargoyles. He reached out and shook one of them, speaking in a deeper voice.

"I thought you said she was kind to you . . ."

"Yeah, but that was before she _knew_!"

He shook the other one, speaking in a British falsetto.

"If she followed you all the way up here, whatever she has to say _must_ be important."

"I don't want to hear another word about how I'm a monster, e _specially_ not from her!"

"Why?" he asked in the deeper voice, rocking the first gargoyle, "Does her opinion matter _more_ than everyone else's?"

"She-"

Claire made the mistake of taking a step towards him. Her weight made the floorboards creak, and Owen raised his head in alarm.

"She's coming!"

He leapt over the gargoyles and scampered around the corner. Claire heard a thump, then a kind of frantic clattering. When she followed Owen's path, she found him hiding under a table. Only his tail protruded from the ragged cloth that covered it, but she could tell that he hadn't intended to leave it out in the open, for he rattled the cutlery above him as he shook with terror. Claire bit her lip, then inched forward. He didn't seem to hear her.

"Ahem . . ."

He froze, cutting off the vibration. Claire laced her fingers together and rocked back and forth on her feet awkwardly.

"Do you live here? Are you the bell-ringer?"

He did not respond. Claire paused, then poked his tail gently. It zipped under the table like spaghetti caught in a ceiling fan, or whatever the medieval equivalent of ceiling fans is.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She bent over to peek under the tablecloth.

"Aren't you gonna say something?"

The feeblest of replies came from behind the fabric.

"No."

"Well, why not? I don't bite."

When he refused to answer a second time, she lifted the cloth.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Owen covered his face.

"Don't look at me!"

She bit her lip and dropped the tablecloth.

"I'm sorry. If you don't want me here, I-"

The table gave a little jump, and she heard a pained grunt. Then, Owen's beak poked out of the corner.

"It's not that I don't want you here, but I don't think you'd like to be around me in the first place."

"Why not?"

The beak slipped back into the shadows.

"Well, you know . . ."

She winced.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier today. I was just surprised by . . . _you_ . . . After thinking things through, I realized that you probably didn't mean to hurt that man."

"I didn't mean to, but it still happened that way."

"Yeah, but he was kind of a jerk for stealing my money, not that he deserved to have his arm broken. I gotta say, I'm flattered that you chased after him at all."

"Why?"

She sat on top of the table, clicking her heels together idly.

"Well, I can't think of anyone else who would do that for me. It's nice to know that _someone_ is willing to fight for justice."

"If we live in a world where a rotten dinosaur is the only one who's willing to help a woman like you, something is seriously wrong."

Claire laughed gently.

"You're not a rotten dinosaur."

"I am."

"You're not."

"I don't know what you think I am, but I'm most definitely a dinosaur."

"But you're not rotten."

"I am, since I'm a dinosaur."

Claire crossed her arms.

"Owen, I've met a lot of people. Of those people, only a handful were kind to me, and of that handful, you were the kindest. That makes you the kindest person I've ever met."

"I'm not technically a person. You should be treated well by someone better than me."

"Better in what way?"

"Species-wise."

Claire rolled her eyes.

"I don't know how much you heard down there in the church, but I'll tell you this much: it doesn't always feel good to be pursued by the 'higher species'."

"I heard that part. Was the Captain giving you trouble?"

"No. Well, yes, but I'm referring to- You know what? It's not important. He's gone now. It's just you and me . . . and the gargoyles."

"The gargoyles?" he whispered.

Claire smiled coyly.

"Perhaps you could introduce me . . . that is, if you're willing to come out. I'm terribly shy around statues, but if I had a friend . . ."

Owen peeked out from under the table, not realizing that his head was between her shins.

"Friend?"

She poked his front horn from above. His eyes flicked upwards, and she smiled.

"Yes, friend. Now, are you gonna-"

She leapt off the table as Owen stood, nearly taking it with him. He trotted up to the gargoyles and held out his front foot.

"This is Vic. They took him off the cathedral because he wasn't scary enough. This is Zara. She was too heavy for her perch, but we don't bring it up because she's sensitive about her size . . ."

Claire pointed to a stone ear that was lying on the ground.

"What's that?"

"That's Sherman. I got mad at him one day because he said- Well, he said something not very nice about me, and at the time, I didn't want to believe he was right, so I smashed him with my tail. I felt awful about breaking him, so I brought him to my working table to try and fix him up, but Master Zebil said I couldn't keep broken junk lying around, and he swept Sherman into the trash. I managed to save this one piece, though. Sherman doesn't talk much these days, but he really listens . . ."

Owen stared at the ear pensively, but snapped out of his trance when he noticed that Claire seemed uncomfortable. His tail slid between his legs.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"You know Zebil?"

"He raised me."

"But I thought- I mean- The church is supposed to be a place of sanctuary, yet he's allowed to keep you locked up here, all alone? What does the priest have to say about this?"

"Nothing, really."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

The priest may or may not have been created in a children's adaptation of a dark story to avoid offending the church, inadvertently creating a plot hole. Why else would a cleric allow a young, disenfranchised boy to be raised in an environment of manipulation and- Actually, no. This joke isn't worth it.

"In any case, Zebil is kind to me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"He took me in as a baby."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"And what else? What has he done since then?"

It took Owen a long time to respond.

"He . . . brings me food."

"Those table-scraps, you mean?" she asked, pointing to a bucket of gruel.

Owen wrapped his tail around his ankle.

"Well- I mean- In this economy, it's hard to feed one person, let alone an animal."

"Owen, if Zebil is cruel to you, you're allowed to say so. Do you actually _like_ him?"

Owen made an uncomfortable squeaking sound.

"It would be ungrateful to show contempt towards the man who took me in."

"But do you like him?"

When she saw that Owen was about to have a nervous breakdown, Claire reached out and put her hand on his beak.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset- What are you doing?"

Owen had turned stiff as a board.

"This has never happened to me before. I don't know what to do."

She laughed.

"Don't tell me you've never touched a human being . . ."

His tail started wagging as she scratched behind his nostril.

"I have, but only once or twice. I keep forgetting how warm people are."

"Not as warm as you."

His tail stopped wagging.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Claire giggled.

"For being different."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of. _I'm_ pretty different, myself."

Owen gave a mile-wide smile, then shuffled to the corner of the room. He came back with a bare olive branch, which he set down delicately at Claire's feet. She picked it up and hurled it across the room. Owen's face fell.

"I'm sorry. I should have known it wasn't good enough."

"What? It flew just fine . . ."

"I wish I had something more valuable to give you."

Claire covered her mouth.

"Oh, that was a gift? I thought you wanted to play fetch!"

She slapped her forehead and jogged away to grab the stick.

"God, I'm so stupid. I hope I didn't offend you."

Owen trotted after her.

"Oh, no! If anyone should apologize, it's me!"

"You've done it five or six times already. Don't be so hard on yourself. You have nothing to be sorry a- . . ."

She cocked her head as she entered the room.

". . . -bout."

In front of her was a table decorated with crude wood carvings. The largest block had two towers.

"Is that Notre Dame?" she asked, running her fingers over it.

"It's a _carving_ of Notre Dame . . ."

She picked up a handful of blocky shapes.

"And these are people?"

Owen nodded. Claire examined a chunk of wood with red paint on top.

"Is this one me?"

He wrapped his tail around his legs shyly.

"Yes. It's not very good. I don't exactly have hands, so-"

He tensed up as she placed her hand on his frill.

"I like it."

"You can keep it, if you want."

"I think I will. I wish I had something to give you in return."

"You've done enough for me already. It's more than I ever could have hoped for."

She knelt in front of his face and took his cheeks in her hands. He looked like he might faint.

"Owen, I don't know what that tiger's been telling you, but being a dinosaur is nothing to be ashamed of. You're a kind person, and that's the true measure of humanity."

"But I'm _not_ human. I have a tail."

"Il n'y a pas de coeur sans queue."

Deeply moved by her words, he leaned forward without meaning to. It was then that she kissed his cheek. He thought he might explode, but he spoke instead.

"Gablabagah?"

It wasn't exactly a word, but she didn't seem to mind. They made their way outside, where the sun was setting over the city.

"We really are on top of the world," she whispered with awe, "It's funny: from up here, all the problems I worry about seem so small."

"Yeah."

"Kinda makes you wonder why there has to be trouble in the first place. I mean, the world is so huge . . ."

"Have you seen it?"

"Parts of it. Haven't you?"

"No. Until this morning, I hadn't even been outside the Cathedral."

Claire gave him a look of pity.

"Owen, if you ever want to leave-"

"No, it's okay. I don't think I'll try a stunt like that again."

"Then I'll have to come visit you, so you don't get lonely."

For the first time that day, he was brave enough to make eye contact without the safety of a disguise hovering between them.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Of course."

She gave him a hug. Owen had never experienced such a thing, and he found himself hoping that it would never end. Part of him knew that it couldn't last forever. He let go first so that he could imagine how long Claire intended to hold him.

"It's been nice talking to you, Owen. You're a lot more understanding than most people. I wish I could stay, but I really should be getting home . . . if I can sneak past the soldiers, of course."

"Did I get you in trouble?"

"I got _myself_ in trouble. Don't worry about it."

Owen batted his eyes.

"Let me help you."

"Help me? With what?"

"Escaping."

"Well, sure, that would be-"

She gave a surprised cry as he wrapped his tail around her waist and hoisted her onto his back, folding his plates outwards so she could lie flat and grab his neck.

"How are we-"

Before she could finish her thought, Owen leapt over the edge of the building, climbing down the stone face without a rope or a net to catch him. Claire dug her fingers into his scales when she looked down. He smiled.

"It's okay. I won't let you fall."

Little by little, the ground drew near. Soon, they were standing on the street behind the cathedral, safe and sound.

"I'm impressed," Claire hummed, "You're quite the acrobat."

"It was nothing. I'm happy to help."

Claire smiled and pulled a scarf out of her bodice.

"I know it's not much, but I can't leave you with nothing."

Owen beamed proudly as she tied it around his neck.

"I look forward to our next visit," she continued, "Until then, stay warm, stay safe, and don't let the guards catch you outside."

"I'm not going outside."

She gave a half-smile.

"If you change your mind, come find me. I'm almost always free, and if not, I'll make sure I am when you visit."

Before leaving, she scratched his chin. His tongue lolled out the corner of his mouth, and his tail wagged furiously.

"Goodbye, Owen!"

"Goodbye . . ." he giggled dopily.

When he was sure that she had made it safely past the soldiers patrolling the streets, Owen smiled warmly and began the long climb up the building. Around halfway, he was surprised to see the Captain staring at him from inside the church.

"Good evening."

Owen snarled furiously and lifted himself into the corridor, pinning Grady to the wall with his horn.

"You're not allowed to _be_ here! As long as Claire's in the church, you have _no_ right to arrest her."

"Something tells me she isn't in the church anymore . . ."

Owen growled.

"Relax, I'm not after her," Grady laughed, "Well, not to arrest her, anyway. Say, do I know you from somewhere? Your voice sounds familiar-"

He coughed as Owen pushed on his throat.

"Get out."

He flung him to the side aggressively.

"Alright, alright, I'm going."

Owen grunted with satisfaction.

"And don't you _dare_ go after her. She doesn't _like_ people like you."

"Well, then she obviously doesn't have a refined taste. It's too bad: she's pretty good looking-"

Owen snorted and feinted a charge. Grady raised his hands defensively.

"Enough! I'm leaving! I wouldn't want to mess with Claire's guard dog."

"No, you wouldn't."

As Grady disappeared around the corner, Owen gave a final snort and trotted up to his tower with his head held high. His gargoyle companions hopped across the room with sly grins.

"Way to go, big guy! You chased off the competition!" Vic cheered.

"Competition?" Owen echoed, "What do you mean?"

Zara rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Owen: it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Captain Grady is after your girl."

Owen shrunk away from her as she tried to wrap her wing around him.

"Well, she's not _mine_ , exactly . . ."

"She _could_ be," Vic hinted, elbowing him sneakily.

"I dunno. Maybe. But I'm so _ugly_ . . ."

Zara slapped her forehead.

"For heaven's sake, Owen, you heard what Captain Grady said: you're her _guard dog_."

"So that makes me her . . . pet?" Owen asked with a crinkled snout.

"It makes you her _defender_ ," Zara explained, "Guard dogs are guards, guards are guardians, and guardians are boyfriends."

Owen thought about it.

"Well, that _kind of_ makes sense . . ."

He shook his head rapidly.

"No. I'm getting my hopes up for nothing. Claire isn't like that branch or my carvings or even you two: she's _better_ than me. I have no right to interpret our relationship as being . . . you know . . ."

"But you _do_ have a relationship?" Vic prompted.

"No. I mean . . . _maybe_. She's nice to me, and I'd like to believe . . . but that's just in my head. People like us don't end up together."

"There's always a first time for everything," Zara pointed out.

"Maybe, but not for me."

"What makes you so different?"

"Beside the fact that I'm a dinosaur? Well, for one thing, I've never spoken to anyone before, so there's no guarantee that I'd know love when I see it."

"But you _have_ seen it."

"Only from the outside. Now, when I've finally figured out what those people were so happy about, I'm stuck. I know I love Claire, but what if she doesn't feel the same way about me?"

He stepped outside, gazing at the city with doleful eyes.

 _So many times out there_

 _I've watched a happy pair_

 _Of lovers walking in the night_

 _They had a kind of glow around them_

 _It almost looked like heaven's light_

 _I never understood_

 _What made them feel so good_

 _I couldn't grasp these things through sight_

 _I thought it would remain beyond me_

 _My life could never be so bright_

 _But suddenly, an angel has smiled at me_

 _And kissed my cheek without a trace of fright_

 _And though I fear that she_

 _Won't feel the same as me_

 _My hope shines stronger than my fright_

 _And even if the chance is slight_

 _I have a way to find the light_

He turned his eyes to the heavens, filing them with stars. His tinnitus rang louder than ever, but now, it almost sounded like music.


	9. Chapter 9

As Owen sat atop his cathedral, dreaming about the potential of love, in the Palais de Justice, Zebil was having romantic thoughts of his own, but his reflection was far from innocent. He paced back and forth in his chamber, staring at a blazing fireplace. He could hear the chanting of monks, carried across the river and made dull by the swaying trees, but this melody did little to soothe his troubled mind.

 _Hyacintho, purpura, flavis viridi, rubro aurantiaco_

"Beata Maria, you know I'm not a pervy cat.

Among felines, I am seen as pure."

 _Magnae clunes mihi placent_

"Beata Maria, atop a throne of light I sat.

The sin of man, I've struggled long to cure."

 _Nec possum de hac re mentiri_

"Then tell me, Maria

Why this auburn-headed witch

Tempts me with her grace of form and dance?

Her spirit consumes me!

This beautiful and busty bitch

Has put me in an everlasting trance!"

His eyes burned.

"Unwanted erection:

A sexy woman's trick!

Disgusting infection

That claims my feline dick!"

He growled.

"It's not my fault

If I'm repressed.

This was brought on by God: it's nothing but a test!

But I won't halt,

For I am strong!

I will not let this woman claim my fluffy dong!"

He roared.

"Protect me, Maria!

Don't let this woman turn me on!

Don't let her booty make my thingy hard!

Allow me to take her! I'll sink my teeth into the fawn!

I'll snatch her up when she is off her guard!"

Captain Grady burst into the room.

"Zebil, I don't know if I should tell you this, since you don't seem to be finished your song, but word on the street is that Claire got out of Notre Dame. I'm not sure how, and I don't know where she's hiding."

Zebil snarled.

"Undaunted projection!

This woman is to blame!

Obey my direction,

Or you will burn in flame!"

Grady blinked.

"So . . . Is this a bad time, then?"


	10. Chapter 10

Owen laughed as Claire chased him through a sunny meadow. She tackled him to the ground, sliding down his belly as he rolled over. When she reached his chest, she rubbed noses with him.

"Owen, you're my favorite person in the whole world!"

He giggled, then cleared his throat in what he hoped was a masculine fashion.

"Whatever do you mean, Claire?"

"Exactly what you _think_ I mean!"

He hummed.

"Well, I can't be your favorite person, since I'm not a person . . ."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not."

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"I'm a dinosaur."

"Are you sure about that?"

She touched his cheek, and he was surprised to find that he did not have a snout to get in the way of her hand. Looking himself over, Owen realized that he was completely human. He smiled.

"I _am_ human. I guess I forgot."

"Well, now you know. Come closer."

He leaned in, expecting her to kiss his cheek, but she went straight for the mouth. They rolled in the grass, stirring up a nest of golden butterflies.

"Mmm, Owen, you're so handsome . . ."

"Handsome? Me?"

"Of course. You're handsome, charming, witty, intelligent, funny-"

He smiled and kissed her again, but something was off.

"Claire . . . Why do you taste like my pillow?"

She gave him a look of pity. Slowly, Owen's face fell.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

She sighed.

"That shouldn't matter, Owen. Besides, there's no way to know for sure . . ."

"I'm not human. I've never been human."

She bit her lip as his handsomeness melted away, replaced by his usual shape.

"Owen, don't you want to be normal?"

He sniffled.

"Of course I do, but none of this is real!"

"Maybe if you dream hard enough, it _can_ be."

He thought about it, but something about her theory didn't add up.

"I don't think that's possible."

"Why not?"

"Because dreams don't affect the real world."

"Don't they?"

"I dunno. Maybe. But there's no way I'd end up with a beautiful woman."

"But I'm not a woman: I'm a dinosaur."

He batted his eyes with surprise when he realized that she had become a Stegoceratops as well. She licked his cheek, then pranced away, floating with each bound. Owen followed, intoxicated by the sight of her.

"You know, Claire, you don't look half bad . . ."

"Why, thank you!"

"I know they say dinosaurs are supposed to be ugly, but you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"That's because you love me."

"I do."

"And I love you, too. I loved you since the moment we met. I don't care if you're a dinosaur: I love you just the way you are. I love, love, love you!"

Owen sprung up with glee, hovering across the meadow. As he spiraled in midair, Claire took his upside-down face in her front feet and gave him another kiss before pulling him on top of her.

"I know you saw a book with pictures of what people do when they're in love. Do you think you can remember the details?"

"I have a general idea . . ."

As he kneaded her chest with his front feet, Owen's nostrils began to twitch. He lifted his head and gave a worried snort.

"Do you smell smoke?"

"It's just your dinosaur-nose, that's all," Claire mumbled.

She pulled him back to face her, and she was human again. Owen nuzzled her cheek, but the scent grew stronger.

"How can you not smell that? It's practically choking me!"

He turned back to Claire, who had begun to hack and cough. Owen felt his heartbeat accelerate.

"Claire?"

"Owen, help! . . ."

He touched her cheek.

"Claire, what's wrong?"

Suddenly, she burst into flame.

"Owen!"

He trumpeted in panic.

"CLAIRE!"

She reached out, but her hands turned to ash and crumbled away. Her face melted into the ground, leaving two burning embers where her eyes had been. Owen found himself standing over a charred skeleton.

"CLAIRE! CLAIRE!"

He sat up in bed.

"CLAIRE!"

Although he had awoken, the nightmare did not leave his mind. The image of Claire's disfigured face kept flashing before his mind's eye. He thought he might throw up.

Gradually, Owen allowed the dream's terror to fade away. When he had somewhat recovered, he noticed something peculiar. The smell of smoke had not vanished with the rest of his dreamworld. It crept up his nostrils like putrid wisps of poison, making his brow ache. Giving a little cough, Owen got out of bed. There was no reason to panic. He was sure it was just his imagination. If not, he was probably having a stroke. The thought made him uneasy, but the reality of the situation was far worse. As Owen stepped outside, he was petrified by the sight of the city he knew so well.

His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where a pillar of smoke was billowing into the sky.


	11. Chapter 11

Owen kept an eye on the smoke all morning. The unseen fire didn't appear to be spreading much, but it was still cause for alarm. Around eleven, a second pillar appeared. Owen paced back and forth in his tower, wondering what was going on.

As the day progressed, more and more smoke towers arose in the distance, though they seemed to be getting closer, so perhaps "in the distance" was not quite accurate. Owen wondered if perhaps he was missing the collisions of a dozen meteors every time he looked away, but it was too coincidental to be true. Whatever was causing the fires came from the ground, rather than the sky.

He began to worry that he might need to evacuate the cathedral, both for his own safety and for the safety of anyone who might need his help, if they were willing to accept help from a dinosaur. As much as his instincts were telling him to flee, he reminded himself of what had happened the last time he left the safety of his home, and reconsidered. His heart felt like it was being crushed by an icy hand, yet he kept making excuses to stay put. He was starting to sound an awful lot like Zebil. But it was all for his own safety, of course. Leaving Notre Dame would only make things worse. Even so, he was dying to know what was going on.

In the square, people had begun to whisper, falling silent when guards passed by. Owen wondered if all this had something to do with Zebil, then immediately felt ashamed that he had thought up such a ridiculous idea.

But then he started to listen.

Names and phrases were carried up to him on the wind, which now reeked of ash and stray cinders. Among them was "Zebil", "looking for", "Grady", "burn", and "traitor". Owen decided his master must be looking for Captain Grady, but this did not make any sense in the slightest. There was no reason why the tiger would pursue his head soldier so fiercely, even if he had betrayed him.

And then Owen heard a third name, and suddenly, he knew. He knew even before his fears were confirmed by a particularly loud conversation in the square. When the whisper of "Claire" drifted between the bells, catching his ear, his world shattered. She was in danger.

And it was because he'd helped her escape.


	12. Chapter 12

By evening, the sky was black. Instead of the moon's glow, an orange aura lit the city, casting crooked shadows on every wall, fence, and alleyway. Owen watched in horror as the buildings he had come to know were set ablaze. His gargoyle companions joined him on his perch, taking in the devastation caused by a lustful tiger.

"Maybe you shouldn't be watching this," Vic gulped, "I mean, you can't change anything, and it's only going to upset you."

"I agree," Zara affirmed, "Besides, there's no use worrying about it. In all likelihood, this will blow over by morning."

"People are gonna get hurt," Owen whispered.

"Not Claire, though," Vic quavered, "Right?"

"Of course not," Zara replied confidently, "She's a clever girl. She'll make it through."

Owen turned away from the blazing city and lumbered over to his bed, where he let himself fall down heavily, refusing to say a word. His gargoyle friends shared a look of concern.

"Owen, you know you can trust us, right?" Vic asked.

"You're just trying to make me feel better. Claire is in big trouble, and it's all my fault."

Vic laughed.

"Hey, big guy, don't talk like that. I'm sure she'd risk certain death for one more night with you."

"I think you have that backwards."

"He does not!" Zara snuffed, "Didn't you hear all the nice things Claire said about you? She adores your pudgy, scaly self."

"She's nice to _everyone_. I'm no different."

"But you _are_ different," Vic asserted, "That's why she likes you. You're the only one who listens to her, and if you don't mind me saying so . . ."

 _A guy like you_

 _She's never known, kid_

 _A guy like you_

 _A girl does not meet every day_

 _No one could grasp_

 _Her views like you did_

 _She'd like to chew_

 _A new_

 _Buffet_

 _Those handsome men_

 _Whom she would bang-le_

 _All fade away like any overrated fad_

 _And though your tail_

 _And belly dangle_

 _From far away, we gotta say, it's not that bad_

 _Your gen'rous size_

 _And red complexion_

 _Are not a prize_

 _But still, it could be much, much worse_

 _'Cuz in her eyes_

 _You are perfection_

 _And she has chased_

 _A taste_

 _Diverse_

 _And even though_

 _You're kind of lardy_

 _She doesn't care you're not a beefcake semiclad_

 _Because you're strong_

 _You're rather hardy_

 _You buffalo, you gotta know_

 _It's not that bad_

Zara gave an elegant pirouette as she danced with Vic.

 _Romance eludes me, the human excludes she, the hybrid!_

Vic spun her around.

 _Girls with her blubber need not buy a rubber, but you, ooh!_

They formed a two-hybrid chorus line.

 _You lucky duck, you dinosaur_

 _You'll fall in love, forevermore_

 _And even though your mug is borderline grotesque_

 _You two are cute_

 _Could be a couple_

 _And though she's way above_

 _That won't annul your love_

 _Sunshine and lollipops_

 _Le Stégoceratops_

 _It's not so bad to be a guy like you!_

"Owen!"

He gasped when Claire's voice echoed through the staircase. His heart nearly boiled over with joy, and he practically flew over to her. The gargoyles were right after all: she _did_ love him! And he loved her, too. He was no longer ashamed to admit it. He held his head high, declaration of love almost slipping off the tip of his tongue, but when Claire climbed into his room, he realized that she was not alone. On her shoulders was an unconscious man. When she turned him over on the floor, it became clear that the body was none other than Captain Grady. Owen let out a deep growl.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

"It's okay. He's on our side. He defied Zebil when he asked him to burn down the mill. He's a real hero . . ."

Owen opened his mouth to debate this fact, but Grady stirred. Claire leaned closer, and he cupped her cheek.

"Claire, you have to go. They're after you . . ."

"I'm not leaving until you're safe."

Owen winced as she ran her fingers through his hair delicately. The Captain didn't seem to dislike this gesture in the slightest. Claire turned suddenly, glaring at Owen with desperate eyes.

"Don't just stand there! Get me some water!"

Owen stumbled backwards, nearly knocking over Vic, then ran to find a gourd. Pressed for time, he picked up his drinking bowl instead and carried it over to her, taking care not to spill. She took it from his beak, and he leaned in a little, hoping she would maybe rub his snout. Instead, she jostled him with her shoulder as she sat up, then pushed him away somewhat insistently.

"I need some space. He's in bad shape."

She unstrapped her satchel and dug through it. When she didn't find what she was looking for, she dumped the contents out carelessly. Owen's carving clattered to the floor, bouncing twice before spinning in place. Claire reached for a rag that had landed next to it, ignoring the figurine completely.

Owen watched her and Grady for a while, staying out of the way. He wanted to say something, but the words were caught in his throat, and he felt like he was about to choke on them. Slowly, he picked up the forgotten carving in his beak with the tenderness of a kitten and retreated. Claire took no notice.

Eyes wet and tail dragging, Owen found himself an empty corner where no one would be able to see him. He lay on his side and examined the figurine, which he now realized looked even worse than he originally thought. It was nothing but a chunk of splintery wood, but in it, his dinosaur eyes could see a hint of Claire, or at least the Claire he had imagined. Although she remained a kind and gentle soul, he had overestimated her ability to look past what he was. Perhaps they were still friends, or else she was simply being polite, if she even cared about him at all. That being said, he was not her favorite person, or even a person period. In a way, he was happy that she wouldn't have to besmirch her already poor reputation by loving him. More than anything, though, he was having a hard time seeing the positives of this situation through the pain of his big, fat dinosaur heart breaking.

Cold and alone, he curled up in a ball, holding the block against his chest tightly, knowing that he'd lose it no matter how hard he tried to hold on. Through the wall, Claire thought she heard sobbing, but she was too busy tending to the injured soldier to investigate.

"Though I might wish with all my might,

I wasn't meant to share her light . . ."

One by one, the fires were put out, leaving the city dark and cold. It was a relief, Owen thought, that he would not be seen.


	13. Chapter 13

Claire had left Grady in Owen's care. She was not concerned about Zebil searching the cathedral, seeing how he believed his Captain of the Guard was dead. He was not far from being right. The man was faring poorly, even with Claire's treatment. Perhaps he wouldn't interfere with Owen and her after all. Then again, that would imply that there was a chance they might get together, which was almost an impossibility by this point.

Part of Owen knew that if Grady was out of the picture, another man would replace him, but his logical side was clouded by anger, presently. He stared down at the hairless ape that had stolen his one chance at love, and felt pure hatred burning in his gut. This human was able to win Claire's heart without even trying. He had benefitted from the privilege of his shape, and he didn't even seem to care that he was lucky enough to snatch up the most wonderful person in the world. He didn't deserve her. He didn't appreciate her like Owen did.

And then he got an idea.

If the Captain were to have an accident, Claire would be left with no choice. It would be easy, so easy, to put an end to the Captain by suffocating him. He was too weak to fight back, and even if he did, Owen could conceal all evidence of a struggle. Claire would have no reason to be suspicious, anyway, since he was close to death already. He could do it. He could kill him.

But as Owen reached for his pillow, a thin garment slipped to the floor. It was Claire's scarf. He had hidden the gift so that Zebil wouldn't question how he had acquired it, but now that it was out in the open, everything became clear.

Claire may not love him, but she did consider him a friend, and he would be a pretty lousy friend if he murdered the man she loved. It wasn't up to him to force her to choose him over a human, because what mattered above all was Claire's happiness. She was more important than the both of them- Grady and Owen- not because she was beautiful and intelligent, but because she was generally a good person: the kind of person who could look at a dinosaur and see him for what he was. She did not assume he was a monster like everyone else, yet he had almost proven her wrong by attempting to kill Grady.

Claire was right about one thing: a person's species did not necessarily correlate with their valor. In all his years of self-hatred, Owen had believed that he was a monster automatically, but he had the power to choose, regardless of what people thought of him. He felt ashamed that he had almost allowed greed to turn him into the kind of person Claire hated.

But was it so wrong to want her? Well, every time he pursued something he desired, it ended badly. From being arrested to stirring up trouble, he didn't exactly have a clean track record. But what made him so different from Claire, who also wanted more than what she had? They both yearned for a better life, free from judgment and squalor, but Owen was considerably less successful in attaining his goals. The answer could not simply be that he was a dinosaur, and therefore destined for failure. He must be missing something.

"That's not true," the gargoyles whispered, "You know it's because you're a dinosaur."

"But Claire thinks I have a chance to be something better . . ."

"What does she know? She's a human. She's never had to feel what you feel."

"She has. We're more similar than we think."

"Zebil was right. You're just a dinosaur. She wants a hero."

"I can be a hero, just like Captain Grady."

"A dinosaur can't be a hero. A dinosaur can't win her heart."

"I don't care if she doesn't love me like I love her . . . Not really . . . What matters most is that we are as happy as we can be, and if Claire is happy, I will not rob her of that for my own purposes. Leeching contentment at the expense of others is what leads to injustice. Perhaps we are too different to be complete equals, but everyone at least deserves a shot. If I get in the way, I'm as bad as the people she despises."

"You're wrong. You're just a dinosaur. Don't say we didn't warn you . . ."

Owen jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Captain Grady was awake and walking.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spook you. Where's Claire?"

"She said she'd come back tomorrow."

"But where _is_ she?"

"Somewhere safe, she said, where she is protected by friends."

"Ah. The hybrids, you mean?"

It was such a casual remark, but it turned Owen's world upside-down.

"Hybrids? . . ."

"Yes, the hybrids. Didn't you ever wonder why she was in so much trouble with the law? Aside from Zebil's insatiable wiener, there are many reasons she's public enemy number one. She doesn't exactly mix with a good crowd."

Owen was barely listening. He stared into the distance with awe, considering the possibilities this development might allow him.

"There are others . . ." he whispered.

Grady pulled his finger out of his ear, flicking it repeatedly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that-"

Suddenly, Owen lifted his head and stomped with determination.

"We have to find her."

"What? Now? Can't we wait?"

"She- she could be in trouble," Owen stuttered, "What if she's hunted down by the soldiers? She'll need someone to protect her."

"Like her hybrid friends?"

"Like us. I don't care how many hybrids are with her: against a giant tiger, they're practically useless. You, on the other hand, have a sword, which is considerably more effective in fighting felines."

"Fine. I'd rather be with her, anyway. Just one question: how do you propose we find her?"

Owen thought it through. Then, he was hit with a stroke of genius.

"Her scarf!"

"Her what, now?"

Owen picked up Claire's scarf and buried his snout deep in the fabric. Grady stared at him blankly as he inhaled several times.

"Uh, do you want to be left alone?"

"I'm picking up her scent, dummy."

Grady nodded.

"Right, right . . . But how are you gonna pinpoint her location in such a big city?"

"There's already a few scents on here that'll help me narrow it down. I can smell the river and . . . and flowers . . . and bread. She must live near the bakery."

"How can you be sure?"

"I have a feeling. It's better than nothing, in any case."

Grady nodded.

"Lead the way."

***TSOND***

It was strange that Owen's nose, a feature so saurian, was of great help in this quest. Humans had long ago forsaken their sense of smell in favor of more civilized options, but Owen could use his nostrils the same way humans used their eyes. He pinpointed a secret door by the bakery, which was hidden behind a thick wall of vines. Grady seemed impressed by his discovery. Owen, himself, was feeling good about it. For so long, he had been ashamed of what set him apart, but now his unusual talent was the key to finally fitting in. What would he say when he met the other Stegoceratopses? Was there something special dinosaurs talked about? Maybe, for once, he could be himself, and not worry about making people uncomfortable.

Owen was so wrapped up in his daydream that he didn't notice several sets of eyes peering at him and his companion. They twinkled in the darkness, drawing nearer and nearer, until-

"Boo!" said the non-dragon, "I'm still inserting myself into this story, in case you were wondering where I had disappeared to. This costume change wasn't easy, let alone choreographing an ambush dance number. Speaking of which . . ."

 _You're very clever for finding our hideout, but you won't be proud of this fact very long_

 _We have inserted a musical number to pad out the movie, it's our filler song-_

"We're looking for Claire," Owen interrupted.

The non-dragon crossed her arms.

"Well, there goes my dance routine. Follow me. She's in the Court of Miracles."

Owen stayed close behind her as she wove through a series of passages, feeling his heart pounding with anticipation. This was it. He was finally going to meet members of his own kind. He would never have to be alone again.

When he entered a large chamber, however, Owen's hopes were crushed. The room was filled with hybrids, but none of them looked like him. The majority were humanoid, with only a few saurian features to break the illusion of normality. Their pointed teeth and stubby horns looked like minor deformities next to Owen. He was still the ugliest creature in all of Paris.

Slowly, his head turned to the ground, and his tail went limp. He barely noticed Claire running through the crowd to greet him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, but aside from leaning a little, he did not react to the gesture.

"Owen! Captain Grady! You found me! What on Earth are you doing here?"

Grady stepped forward.

"It was Owen's idea to come looking for you. He used your scarf to sniff you out."

Claire grinned and rubbed his snout excitedly.

"Is that right? Well, that was very clever of you, Owen. I'm proud of you for being brave enough to come find me."

When he didn't respond, her smile disappeared.

"What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have come."

"Why not? I told you you were free to visit . . ."

"I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere, except the bell tower. I thought there would be people- _dinosaurs_ like me down here. That's the only reason I came. I thought I had a shot at finding a family, or at least others like me, but I'm all alone . . ."

"You're not alone," Claire whispered, "I'm here for you."

Owen yanked his head out of her grasp.

"But _look_ at you! You're not a dinosaur! _No one_ here is! I'm the only one of my kind! How can you say I'm not alone? There's nobody in the world like me!"

Claire reached out slowly and put her hand on his beak.

"Owen, people don't have to look the same to be alike. And as for there being no one in the world like you, on that point I have to agree. You're unique in the best possible way- erm, besides having the exact same voice and eyes as Captain Grady, which I find kind of odd-"

Owen scowled bitterly.

"Well, if he's the human version of me, I don't see why you'd want to keep me around."

Claire was about to reply, but suddenly, there was a series of screams, and a striped figure rose above the crowd. Zebil flicked his tail back and forth as his guards stormed the Court of Miracles.

"Thank you, Owen, for leading me to the girl. This turned out much better than I was expecting, seeing how I can now eradicate the hybrids and bring the treacherous captain to justice."

Owen's jaw dropped.

"How did you find me?"

"We're never going to address that. Anyway, this turned out rather well for me, and I imagine I'll feel even better when this barbaric whore is a pile of ash."

His tail extended, snaking across the room until it wrapped around Claire's waist. Owen made a leap to save her, but Zebil retracted his tail, laughing malevolently.

"I love it when I win."

Claire screamed, but he gagged her with his tail. The hybrids ran to fight him, but were roped and caged by the soldiers. As the tiger tightened his grip around Claire, she gazed at Owen with pleading eyes. He took a step forward, legs shaking.

"Let her go, Zebil!"

"Or what? You'll charge me like an animal? You don't have the nerve. You're just a simple dinosaur, and I'm a tiger. Who ever heard of a Stegoceratops saving the day? _Hybrids aren't heroes_."

Claire tried to speak through his tail, but was silenced by his voluminous fluff. Owen had lowered his head to charge, but slowly, he adopted a submissive posture. Zebil prowled towards him, sneering.

"You know it's true. You're just a big, stupid animal."

Claire kicked her legs violently, attempting to encourage Owen with desperation in her eyes, but he had made his choice. He sat down, head held low, and gave a rumble of defeat.

"Good boy," Zebil purred, "Guards, arrest him and the other half-breeds. They'll be given front row seats for the execution of this vile woman."

Owen was chained and dragged away. He could still hear Claire struggling to get his attention, but he did not look up to meet her gaze.

What right did a dinosaur have to challenge a tiger?


	14. Chapter 14

The ropes that bound Owen to the cathedral pillars were a formality, nothing more. He had no desire to escape, or at least not on a superficial level. After so many false starts, he had learned his lesson. A Stegoceratops was not meant to be a hero. A Stegoceratops was not meant to be anything at all. He was nothing, and if he was not nothing, he was less than nothing. He had negatively impacted nearly everyone who crossed his path, and for no reason other than the fact that he was a dinosaur.

There was only one thing Owen loved in the world- well, one _person_ , actually. As much as he tried to convince himself that he liked Zebil, he knew that he was being untruthful. No, the only person he had ever loved was Claire, and she was now tied up in the square, precisely where Owen had been lying less than a week ago. The only difference was that no one was coming to rescue her.

Owen wondered if Claire would have reconsidered showing him mercy if she had known that her act of kindness would end in her demise. Most likely, she would have helped him anyway. Claire was a selfless human, kinder than anyone Owen had ever known. He was ashamed that he could not return the favor.

 _But you can!_ shouted a voice in his head, _There's still time to save her!_

"It wouldn't matter," Owen whispered, "If I save her, it won't change the fact that thousands of people will continue to die because of the world's injustice. It won't make a difference."

 _It would make a difference to her . . ._

Owen exhaled, going limp.

"What can _I_ do? I'm just a Stegoceratops. If she wants a hero, she should call for Grady."

His gargoyle friends moved towards him, their stone bodies hissing on the wood.

"That's right, Owen: you don't need her as long as you have us," Zara whispered.

"You were happy before, and you can be happy again. Forget the girl. Forget how she hurt you," Vic breathed.

"Learn from this and move on. Listen to Zebil."

"He was right. You were afraid of injustice, but that's just how the world works."

"It is best for all tame animals to be ruled by men."

"Love made you weak."

"The system keeps us in order."

"Don't let yourself feel."

Owen tossed his head.

"No . . ."

"Trust us, Owen," Zara hissed, "We've always been there for you. We are a certainty."

"You fear change for a reason. It is impossible. You didn't want to prove it, but now you have, and you can let go."

Owen snorted.

"Stop!"

"You set these events in motion. You're to blame."

"She's going to die because of-"

Owen roared.

"SHUT UP!"

He lifted his tail, then brought it down hard on the two of them. They shattered, crumbling beneath his spikes. Owen caught his breath, then turned away from the rubble with a pained expression.

"Leave me alone. That's how I'm meant to be."

But as Owen stared down at the lit square, he heard a third voice. It belonged to Claire. He remembered her words of encouragement, her prayer, everything she had said to convince him that he was worth something. _She_ didn't think he was worthless because he was a dinosaur.

"But if the world doesn't agree with her, what's the point?"

The poor Stegoceratops gazed down at Claire, who was about to be burned at the pyre, and he suddenly realized that it didn't matter what the world thought of him- or at least, it didn't have to. Claire was his friend, and it was his duty to save her. Even though he was a dinosaur, there was a chance- a small chance- that he could also be a hero. Society may tell him otherwise, but in the end, it was up to him to prove them wrong. He could not combat the injustices of the world and expect to come out on top. He could not right every wrong, nor liberate the people who so desperately needed his help. His efforts might very well amount to less than a dent in the big picture. Despite all this, he had to try. He had to try for Claire, and for himself. Change would start with him.

As Zebil lit the crooked wood beneath Claire's feet, Owen gave a mighty trumpet and struggled to free himself from his bonds. One by one, the ropes snapped, and he realized that he was stronger than he thought . . . because he was a dinosaur.

Once he was free, Owen swung down on a loose rope, which promptly broke under his weight. He tumbled towards the pavement, screaming.

"WHY DID I THINK THAT WOULD WORK?!"

Then, a silky filament shot out of his tail, perhaps fueled by instinct, and allowed him to swing down to where Claire was suffocating on putrid smoke. He roared furiously at the guards, charging them as they climbed onto the platform. When they retreated fearfully, he chewed through Claire's ropes, swinging her unconscious body over his shoulder. Then, he thundered towards the cathedral and began to climb.

Higher, higher, he rose, above saints and angels, scaling the demons that surrounded the place of worship. One crumbled as he pulled himself up, but he fluttered his plates and flew the rest of the way. Parisians of all walks of life gazed up at the dinosaur who had dared to defy his master, and saw him in a different light. They had not yet come to terms with the fact that he may be one of them, but they felt something stirring in their hearts, and decided that they were at least on his side.

Then, standing tall on Notre Dame, he raised Claire above his head and made a declaration that resounded across all of Paris.

"SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!"

And to his surprise, the crowd gave a cheer.

His heart dropped when he noticed a group of guards storming the cathedral. There were too many to fight. Still, he wouldn't give in. He was ready to defend Claire, despite the impossible odds.

Suddenly, a missile shot through the sky. A giant, caprine machine appeared on the horizon, giving a metallic bleat.

"What the hell is that?" Owen gasped.

"That's my goat," Claire muttered weakly.

The robot attacked the remaining soldiers with heat-vision, melting them in their armor. Zebil slunk into the cathedral in the chaos that followed, while Owen laid Claire down to rest. As he covered her with a blanket, she took his front foot in her hand. He was surprised by this.

"Owen . . . Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's what any decent person would have done."

She coughed. Owen leaned closer with worry. Claire took a shaky breath and cupped his cheek with her free hand.

"Promise me . . . you'll never let them tell you . . . you're a monster."

"Claire-"

"Promise me."

"I promise."

She nodded.

"Good. I know it's been hard for you, Owen, but you deserve . . . a better life. Don't be afraid . . . to accept the love you've been missing. If I've done right by you, I'll be satisfied . . . with that simple justice."

Her hand slipped from his.

 _Wait, why the hell is she dying?_

 _Closer to the book._

 _The whole point of this story was to see if she falls in love with him!_

 _Oh, right._

Her eyes flicked open, and she took a panicked breath. Owen held her against his chest.

"Claire! . . ."

"I'm okay. I'm fine. I just need to- GIANT TIGER HOLDING A KNIFE!"

"I'm not familiar with that expression-"

Suddenly, Owen was stabbed by Zebil, who had crept up behind him. Claire yanked on the tiger's whiskers, making him howl. While he was distracted, Owen tied his tail to a post and carried Claire to safety, ignoring his bleeding shoulder. It didn't take long for the tiger to free himself, and by the time he caught up with them, they were trapped on the south tower.

"Don't do this, Zebil!" Owen quavered, "You don't have to be bad anymore."

Zebil rolled his eyes.

"I'm only bad from your point of view. All I want is to rid the world of gypsies- I mean hybrids."

Owen stood protectively in front of Claire.

"Then take me, but let her go. She's not the one you want."

"I won't leave you," Claire whispered.

"And I _do_ actually want her," Zebil admitted.

"Ew."

Zebil prepared to grab Claire with his tail, but Owen lunged forward and chomped down on it, letting go when the tiger whimpered.

"You're just a big, mean kitty!" Owen shouted.

Enraged by his remark, Zebil pounced, but Owen ducked out of the way, and the tiger tumbled over the side of the cathedral. A woman in the square below may or may not have impulsively reached out for him, and in doing so, made herself wonder if she had some unresolved issues.

Owen shook himself off and peered down at the mangled feline.

"That was a dumb way to die."

Claire nodded.

"Kind of. But we gave him a chance."

"That's all we can do, I suppose."

"For now."

He sighed deeply.

"For now."


	15. Chapter 15

Even after such an astounding event, the world somehow found a way to get back to normal. When the dust settled, Paris was no different than it had been a few days prior, minus a few buildings and a giant tiger. The latter would not be missed, and the city's wounds would heal eventually . . . with the help of a benevolent robot goat. It was a bittersweet ending, perhaps favoring some characters over others, as the hybrids were forced to move on after being discovered, and there was no telling how they would fare. Owen did not join them in their travels, choosing to stay at Notre Dame instead. Claire objected to this, of course, but he assured her that he was doing it for his own sake instead of Zebil's.

"Besides," he said, "Paris needs a bell-ringer, even if he goes unnoticed at times."

And he left her in the square.

She was tempted to follow him, but Grady stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

 _Haha! I told you!_

"Claire, there's something I've been meaning to ask you for some time, now. I know you've been through a lot, so you don't have to give me an answer right away . . ."

Before entering the cathedral, Owen looked over his shoulder. He was glad that Claire had found happiness. And if it had to be anyone, he was glad it was Grady. The ex-captain would take care of her, giving her everything she deserved, and she'd never have to worry about being shunned. After nearly letting her die, Owen was willing to accept the fact that he was probably not the best choice, anyway.

He retreated to his tower, which was filled with sunlight. Dust hovered gently in the bright beams, making the scene rather peaceful, especially compared to the devastation that had transpired a few hours ago. He picked up his olive branch and began to sweep the remnants of the smashed gargoyles into the trash. He didn't feel upset about it, surprisingly.

"Owen."

He wheeled around with shock. Claire had returned. He felt a flutter of excitement, but forced himself to stay calm.

"Claire? . . ."

"I forgot my bag."

He turned away.

"Oh. It's in the corner."

She nodded and knelt beside the satchel, the contents of which were still strewn everywhere, and began to gather her belongings. As she swung it over her shoulder, she noticed Owen's carving on the other side of the room. She picked it up, turning it around in her hands pensively.

"What's your favorite color?"

Owen blinked.

"Pardon?"

"What's your favorite color?" she repeated, "It's a simple question."

"I don't know. I suppose it depends on the context."

"Do you like red?"

"I do. That might have something to do with my animal nature."

"How do you figure?"

"Red is meant to catch your eye. It stands out."

"Do you like _being_ red?"

"I don't know. I've always been this way. I guess it doesn't make a difference, when you get down to brass tacks. I'm sure some people would disagree . . ."

"Those people are wrong. It shouldn't matter."

"I think so, too. I guess I have you to thank for that."

He continued to sweep, but slowed down as Claire moved closer. He gulped nervously.

"Did you find everything okay?"

"Yes."

"Good."

After a pause, he lowered his head.

"Will we ever see each other again?"

"Yes."

"So, this isn't 'goodbye'?"

"Not even close."

Owen smiled.

"That makes me happy. I guess you'd better head off now, if he's waiting for you."

"Grady, you mean?"

"Mhm."

"He's gone, actually."

Owen's eyes went wide.

"Oh my god . . . Did he dump you?"

"No. He asked me out on a date, but I declined."

"Why?!"

"I was thinking of seeing someone else."

Owen's tail curled around his ankle.

"Oh. Do I know him?"

"Uh . . ."

"Does he live nearby?"

"Actually-"

Owen backed away suddenly.

"You don't have to tell me who it is, if you don't want to."

"It's you."

Owen froze.

"What."

Claire wrung her hands.

"I was thinking about it, and if you feel the same way I do, I'd like us to be a couple."

Owen did not blink or breathe for exactly ten seconds. He was stiller than the statues on the cathedral. Then, his eyes migrated in opposite directions as he gravitated to his left, and fainted, making a loud "thump". Claire grabbed his drinking dish in panic and splashed water on his face. She patted his cheek rapidly as he regained consciousness.

"Owen! Owen, are you okay?!"

When she lifted his chin with her finger, his tongue popped out the left corner of his mouth.

"Gablabagah?"

Claire smiled and placed his tongue back in his muzzle.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so direct. You don't have to-"

She gasped as he pulled her forward and gave her a kiss. After a second, he broke away.

"Oh my god. I just did that. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

She kissed him again to shut him up. His tail wagged furiously. When they parted, he licked her cheek and gave her a hug, sitting down on his big, red rump.

"I love you, Claire."

"I love you too, Owen."

 _Goddamn it._

Laughing in the rafters, Ellie pumped her fist.

"I win! They fell in love!"

"I'm sure you cheated, somehow," Elkay grumbled.

Ellie grinned sassily and poked her beak.

"I won fair and square. So . . ."

- _here is a riddle to guess, if you can, sing the bells of Notre Dame_

 _What makes a monster and what makes a man?_

 _Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells-_

 _The metal hearts ringing in bronze giants singing in harmony as love rebels . . ._

 _For the bells of Notre Dame!_


	16. Chapter 16

"So, are you ready to admit that I was right?" Ellie smirked, mocking the spiteful dragon.

"Fine, fine. Their love is heavenly and pure and transcends the limits of his giant dinosaur co-"

"Keep it PG! . . . And I thought you said they had a layer of foam that constricted to allow-"

The dragon covered Ellie's mouth.

"What I said wasn't important, and are we gonna keep interrupting each other, or clean up these worlds?"

"Clean up?"

She waved her paw dismissively.

"Yeah, like let them fade. The characters are only extractions of the people we know. It's not a moral issue."

Ellie pouted.

"I kind of grew attached to them . . ."

"Not me. My story was shit, and yours was sappy."

"I thought it was cute."

Elkay smiled sweetly.

"Just remember: you're wrong."

Ellie rolled her eyes and trotted out the door.

"Alright, get rid of them, but don't forget the lesson we learned today."

"What's that?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually."

When she was out of sight, Elkay washed away her Hunchback of Notre Dame story. Then, as she picked up the filaments of Ellie's narrative, she peeked over her shoulder to make sure that no one was watching, and placed it in a magic snowglobe, which she hid in a drawer that Ellie never bothered to check. She shut it away for a second, but couldn't help but take one last peek.

Then, she sighed whimsically and left the world suspended in time, ready for a new adventure when the moment was right.

 **The End . . .**

 **. . . Kind Of.**


End file.
